Wayward thoughts from a dogged mind

Politics

We will not be a government that uses poverty as a weapon against its own people. Metiria Turei, Green Party Co-Leader

Poverty is in the news again as the Green Party puts out their Mending the Safety Net policy and throws a gauntlet down before the other parties. The bottom line is that everyone should have enough for their families to flourish, no ifs, no buts, and no government sanctions to penalise those who are failing. I gave an inward cheer that at last the unspeakable was being spoken: our society is broken and needs fixing in a radical way.

Then I started reading the comments section of the media coverage, and my heart sank again at the mean-spirited, self-righteous, I’m all right Jacks, who seek to perpetuate the punishing of poverty, and the stigmatising of the poor.

I’ve had a pretty privileged life, but there was a time when I had three children under five, and was pregnant with my fourth. My husband had just been sectioned under the Mental Health Act to a psychiatric hospital after nearly a year of erratic behaviour and even more erratic financial management. In those days, the bank account was in his name, it was the early 1980s and I was dependent on him financially, not having embarked on a career before the family began. In that year, I was really grateful to receive what was then a universal child allowance of $6 per child, it was the only independent money I had, and was usually enough to buy the children essentials like a pair of shoes.

It was a week before Christmas, I had nothing, literally, other than some food in the pantry, but certainly not enough to last, and nothing to cover the needs of babes and toddlers still in nappies. The Public Trust, which stepped in to manage the finances of mental patients while they were under the MHA, was closed for the year and would not be able to take any action to release funds to me until mid January.

Sunnyside Hospital 1977The feeling of utter helplessness was overwhelming, but at the same time I had some pride and was reluctant to ask my parents for help (loving though I knew they were, and would do anything for me). I was still in shock from the brutal sectioning of my man, which had involved the police forcibly subduing him, followed by his hospitalisation in the then Sunnyside Psychiatric Hospital. I cried myself to sleep every night, and for many of my waking hours trembled with tension and heartbreak. Not knowing what was going to happen, or how I was going to cope, haunted my every thought.

I was lucky, I was surrounded by a caring rural community and had people calling by with meals and offers to baby-sit. My parents also rallied as soon as they realised my dire situation, and came to stay over Christmas and New Year, bearing gifts.

Without that support, I can’t even begin to think what I would have done to survive and care for my littlies. And yet, this is what so many women have to go through for periods much longer than I. They have to struggle for years to make the meagre government handouts stretch. They have to live with the abuse and name-calling that the uncaring in society inflict on them: “dole bludgers, parasites”. So often in commentaries you read the view that the poor shouldn’t have children, or go on having children if they can’t support them. There is no empathy, no sympathy, only judgment and belittling.

But I know that circumstances can change in a life, the unforeseen does sometimes happen, and a comfortable life can be overturned. No one is exempt, and only the truly hard-hearted, or foolish, can say that “it can’t happen to me”.

To those who say it is irresponsible to have children if your circumstances can’t afford it, we chose to have no more children when my husband was better and back home with us. I had a tubal ligation. It failed, I was one of 3%, or whatever the failure percentage is, and within a few months of my operation I was pregnant again.

You see, sometimes life just throws us a curved ball and you have no say on where it will land. Most of the time we can’t change our situation, no matter how much we try. A truly caring and progressive society sees value in everyone and is prepared to pay the price of picking up those who stumble and need a helping hand.

To those small-minded naysayers who make accusations of socialism as if it were something to be ashamed of, I say I’m proud to support the Green Party that has such a conscience and is prepared to draw a line in the sand against the policies of privilege and selfish individualism.

I always loved the song by the Hollies: He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother. We are all on this road of life together, and it is easier for us all, if we extend a helping hand, ungrudging, to those less fortunate, for we never know when it might be our turn for a hand up.

The road is long
With many a winding turn
That leads us to who knows where
Who knows where
But I’m strong
Strong enough to carry him
He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother

So on we go
His welfare is of my concern
No burden is he to bear
We’ll get there

For I know
He would not encumber me
He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother

If I’m laden at all
I’m laden with sadness
That everyone’s heart
Isn’t filled with the gladness
Of love for one another

It’s a long, long road
From which there is no return
While we’re on the way to there
Why not share

And the load
Doesn’t weigh me down at all
He ain’t heavy he’s my brother

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We are not doing celebrity, personality, abusive politics – we are doing ideas. This is about hope. Jeremy Corbyn

The funny thing about hope is that it doesn’t take much of it to make a difference to your day, to a generation, to a nation. Hope is what happened yesterday in the British elections.

I was at work on the other side of the world, it was my day time as the UK results started trickling in at 10am/pm depending on one’s antipodean situation. I’m an ex-pat Brit living in New Zealand and I have taken very little interest in British elections because they still embrace first past the post instead of proportional representation, and consequently have an inherently unfair system that inevitably results in maintaining the status quo for the privileged. To add insult to injury, I had been disgusted with the result of the Brexit vote, so had pretty much written off the island kingdom.

This time felt different however, as the British Labour Party has been going through a process, either rebirth or death throes. The media and political punditry (both right and left of the spectrum) have for months claimed it to be the latter.

Throughout the day I sneakily watched online updates on the Guardian website with trepidation, fearing that my homeland would once again be swayed by the stale message of ‘strong and stable leadership’. But from the moment the exit polls indicated something else might be afoot, I was transfixed and a small flame flared up in my heart.

It had already been obvious that the Labour Party leader had tapped into a yearning in members of the voting public, not the wealthy ones of course, but the ordinary Joes, a bit like the folk left behind in the US who upturned that nation’s political world back in November. You’d have thought the chattering elite would have learned a lesson by now. But no, the message of austerity and gloom continued to be spread as one of no alternative.

Trouble is people cannot live with doom and gloom. A wise man in biblical times wrote: ‘where there is not vision, the people perish’, and a truer word could not apply more to modern times. Of course the message that Jeremy Corbyn has to offer was very different from Donald Trump’s, based as it is on a lifetime of service to others (as opposed to self-serving), and a philosophy that puts the welfare of all above the benefit of a small elite (compared with the wheeler-dealing trader of tinsel).

Young and old, poor and some middle-classed responded and made it patently clear to all the pundits who had rubbished, scorned, denigrated, and insulted Corbyn for many months, that they liked to have a bit of hope.

Even if the reins of power were not quite achieved yesterday, something has changed,
and it felt like a victory.

The calvinistic work ethic, that some have to do it hard, that’s just their lot in life, accept it and knuckle down, has been rejected. Instead, we can work together to make a fairer society, doesn’t seem such a wishy washy dreamer’s plaint.

The multitudes that got out, attended rallies, door knocked, spoke to unbelieving family and friends, have shown that there are indeed many of us who share a common goal. We are legion, and there are many more, who maybe did not have the courage to act on what they hoped for, but now have seen what can be achieved with a concerted effort.

Some might say a gentle revolution has taken place. Some of those monied, and powerful elites might be shaken by what they have seen. Despite the overwhelming odds of a negative and biased media, a popular movement has begun, bypassing the traditional or expected behaviours. My hope is that it will spread, because we all need hope, as we all need food, water and air. It is the essence of life as a human being.

Hope springs eternal is a tired and at times meaningless proverb, nonetheless it is true. Hope is what religion is based on, and every society has been built around it. People can endure horrendous suffering if they believe it will come to an end and a better future awaits. Hope is built into our psyche, even the most despicable depots and torturers rely on it to break their prisoners.

By the same token, it will be important to build on that hope, to feed it, to make sure it comes to pass, because ‘hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life’; without it, there is death, both literal and metaphorical.

My hope is that my country, which is facing an election in September will learn from the UK, that our media will start to balance its coverage of the various parties and critically examine the policies without bias. I hope that the left of centre parties who have, for some time, thought their only path was to move rightwards to attract the voters, will now understand that is not the way to woo. There has to be something very different on offer, not more of the same wrapped up with a different coloured bow.

A warning has been sounded to all complacent governments, your days are numbered if you do not fulfill your obligation and duty to care for your people. If you continue to tread down the down-trodden, they will rise up when a suitable leader speaks the words they long to hear, and offers a different path. We all basically want the same things, home, warmth, food, safety, love, fulfilment, purpose. It’s just that some people have those, without seeming to understand that everyone needs them, and are unwilling to share.

John Lennon sang in 1971:

Imagine there’s no countries
It isn’t hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace…

You may say I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope someday you’ll join us
And the world will be as one

Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world…

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We can create a new kind of politics: kinder, more respectful, but courageous, too. Jeremy Corbyn

On the verge of change, hope is resurrected, the world of possibilities opens. It’s only an election on the other side of the world, but it is the land of my birth and I care what happens. For a long time my political heart has been filled with the philosophies of the left, not socialism as such, but a more humanitarian, egalitarian mindset. In the context of the history of the land I live in as well as my homeland, agendas that are totally at odds with my beliefs have dominated the greater part of my adult years. But there is a stirring in the air. Can you hear it? A vibration building. Can you feel it?

England has the opportunity for gentle revolution, or it can choose the status quo, thinking of the devil you know rather than a change for good. For too long the western nations have thrown up a succession of grey men and occasional women, preaching a message of steady as she goes, don’t rock the boat, tighten the belt and pull yourself up by your bootstraps.

Every now and then a small beacon of hope flares up (Obama was one), which inspires the people to believe they can make a difference, society can be better.

Too often that beacon is stifled, snuffed out, as following the election of the Greek Coalition of the Radical Left (SYRIZA), the powers against change showed how quickly and efficiently can act.

Bernie Sanders is another who burned for a time, drawing young and old together in a dream for a better future for all, but instead the nation’s convoluted (and arguably corrupt) electoral system intervened, and instead a monstrous demigod has risen to power.

In France, a battle between bigotry and cultured, rational, measured humanitarianism was uninspiring until the duly elected Macron trumped the American president in a hand-shake and the world cheered.

Now Jeremy Corbyn is drawing the multitudes to him, touched by his humanity, his genuine love of his fellow man. He has been persecuted, scorned, demonised, harangued, but still he is calm and steadfast to the truths that he has lived throughout his life.

That is why people respond, even if they disagree with his policies, he speaks to them directly, he does not need speech notes or tele prompts, because he knows and understands the yearnings of ordinary folk. A messianic figure maybe, or a pied piper. But he gives people hope that the future can be different, that is does not have to be misery, poverty, hardship. The society he preaches invests in its people, not buildings, in education for all, not military might, in free, quality healthcare, not privilege for the wealthy. Who would not want this?

The pity is that too often the downtrodden do not dare to believe that their situation can change, and from fear they choose to stay in their confines instead of walking through the open door. Change can be scary, we get comfortable in our old slippers and sloppy jersies. It is easier to watch telly than read a book, or go out and offer a helping hand to a needy neighbour. Shunning the stranger in our midst is preferable to inviting them into our home and making an effort to understand another’s culture. Difference is easier to reject than to integrate.

To make a better world there has to be active participation, it will will never trickle down from the wealthy to the poor. Like tree that grows strong there has to be a good root system or else the first strong wind of adversity will rip it out. The roots are the everyday people, you and me, mum and dad, brother and sister, black and white and yellow and brown. The blood is red for us all. There is so much more that we have in common than keeps us apart; every family tree goes back to a small gene pool.

It is good that a man of peace is speaking words of conciliation, and showing by example that decency and tolerance offer a better path than division and bellicosity. To be sure, the paths of war have lead us to the point of destruction so many times, but we never learn. The paths of acquisitiveness and objectification are leading us to planetary annihilation.

To continue to wilfully ignore the blindingly obvious at election time is a betrayal of our children’s future. We allow the machinations of those with ulterior motives determine the agenda, to manipulate the media, to turn those with altruism in their hearts into laughing stocks.

But when utopia is no longer an option because dystopia rules, remember there used to be a choice. Did you make it?

Thrash metal band, Megadeth released their album last year:

Dystopia
If you only want to live and die in a cage
There’s panic and there’s chaos, rampant in the streets
Where useless thoughts of peace are met with rage

Demoralized and overmastered people think
The quickest way to end a war is lose
Dictatorship ends starting with tyrannicide
You must destroy the cancer at it’s root

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If cooperation is a duty, I hold that non-cooperation also under certain conditions is equally a duty.’ Mahatma Gandhi

I’m a colonial gal, more correctly I’m a wild colonial gal, in fact I’m downright angry. It takes a lot to madden me these days, but the whole episode around the signing of the TPPA has hit the button.

Not only is the secrecy around the negotiations deplorable, but for the negotiating parties to turn on those who question both the process and the outcome, and claim they don’t understand, or are misrepresenting, is doubly despicable.

But what has really taken the biscuit has been the paucity of our mainstream media and their mockery, scorn, and downright racism towards many of the protesters to Thursday’s signing.

I want to make it plain that I am the daughter of a colonial “master”. My father served as a reasonably highly placed officer in the Nigerian Colonial Police Force during the 1950s until Independence in 1963. My parents met and married there.

I was raised with black servants.

Colonialism is the establishment, exploitation, maintenance, acquisition, and expansion of colony in one territory by a political power from another territory. It is a set of unequal relationships between the colonial power and the colony and often between the colonists and the indigenous population.

Colonialism caused the loss of sovereignty, which is the loss of the right of a state to control its own destiny, to play in its own development, to conduct its own diplomacy and internal relations, to decide which outside nations to associate with or to emulate, and above all to manage or even mismanage its own affairs, derive pride and pleasure from its success and derive lessons, frustration and experience from its failures.

Africa not only provided Europeans with a source of raw materials, but it also provided them with what they viewed as raw, uncivilized people, on whom they could impose their views and whom they could exploit at the same time they exploited the land.

I have vivid memories of my father raging against black people and his support for Enoch Powell later when we were back in the motherland.

The colonial rule of the territories around the river Niger, defined by arbitrarily imposed borders, was maintained and controlled by playing the different races and tribes against one another. When the English left, all hell broke out and the atrocities of the Biafran War in 1967 shocked the world.

Fast forward a few decades, and I have now been a citizen of New Zealand for over 40 years. Don’t get me wrong, I love this country, it is my home. I’m married to a fifth generation Kiwi, and have 3 Kiwi kids. I have read Michael King’s History of New Zealand, I have attended Treaty of Waitangi workshops and I believe that in Te Tiriti, we have something that is unique in the British Empire.

But despite that, I see all too clearly that the same attitudes that dominated colonial life in Africa, are still at work in New Zealand, albeit in a muted and covert way. It is never more apparent than when the indigenous people, Maori, get a bit “uppity” and claim their rights under the historic treaty signed 175 years ago.

At the heart of the Treaty of Waitangi is the issue of sovereignty as the British understood it, and governance as the Maori understood it. This has been an ongoing source of discussion and debate. But one thing has been constant throughout the history of this nation, and that is the repeated breach of faith by the governments of the day towards the Maori.

The signing of the TPPA is just the latest manifestation. Maori have experienced for generations the treachery of governmental assurances. This time however, it is not just the Maori people, Tangata Whenua, whose trust has been betrayed, but also those of us who have been later arrivals in this land, the Tau Iwi.

At the heart of TPP is the concept of Imperialism, which refers to economic, military, political domination that is achieved without settlement. Imperialism is aimed exclusively at maximizing self-interest rather than promoting good government and economic development in the colonies. Imperialism is not only the desire to open up more markets for finished goods and get raw materials, but is also to invest surplus capital and monopolize natural resources.

There is a hangover from Colonialism that we can still see in the new Imperialism. Colonialism saddled the most colonies with monocrop economies. During the colonial period, each colony was made to produce a single cash crop or two and no attempts were made to diversify the agricultural economy. Africans were encouraged to produce what they didn’t consume and to consume what they didn’t produce.

In New Zealand, what we produce as a trading nation is no longer just what we as a people need. Market driven forces determine what we produce. More and more of our family run farms are being converted to corporate owned and managed dairy economic units. So we export dairy and we import items that we used to produce ourselves, but others can produce more cheaply because of poor working conditions and wages for their workers.

Specialisation not diversification, all for the sake of trade, so our new masters can make profits.

Under TPPA (and its northern hemisphere counterpart TTIP), we cannot interfere with that profit process without the risk of being taken, as a nation, to arbitration before an unelected, unaccountable tribunal of corporate appointees. If we were to democratically legislate to protect our environment against the adverse effects of intensive dairying, for example, we risk being taken to arbitration by a foreign owned corporate for future loss of profit. The arbitration decision is over and beyond our legal and parliamentary system and may impose crippling financial penalties, especially on smaller nations, all in the name of corporate loss of profit.

There is no appeal.

That is injustice.

Marx predicted that the bourgeoisie would continue to create a global market and undermine both local and national barriers to its own expansion. A November 2014 report showed that 0.004% of the world’s adult population controls nearly $30 trillion in assets, 13pc of the world’s total wealth,

Such loss of sovereignty to a new treaty, which we are assured is for our good, does not bode well with the hindsight of colonial history.

Which brings me to the protest movement.

Thursday 4 February saw a rising up, and a coming together of Maori and Pakeha, young and old to say “No” to the steamroller that is TPP. It was a festive, passionate, peaceful march, well coordinated, well publicised and absolutely splendid.

The Maori warriors who led the march were fierce and showed how awesome their culture is. The father of protest movements, Gandhi said, “A nation’s culture resides in the hearts and in the soul of its people.” We saw the hearts and souls of our nation that day.

Courtesy Taiao PhotographyI was disappointed to see the reaction of many of the media commentators, and government politicians. They are happy for Maori to win Rugby World Cups for them, proud of the haka performed at the beginning of games – a bit of spectacle on the side. But when performed with power, with anger, with passion and with real challenge, the comments were disparaging. The colonialists were quick to put the natives down, “rent-a-mob”. The ordinary folk in the march, not all of whom were good at articulating why they were there, were quickly mocked, put in their place, basically told “how dare you disobey!”

Civil disobedience has a noble history in colonial history. The art of Satyagraha, passive resistance or non-cooperation, was formulated by Mahatma Gandhi in the Indian struggle for independence from British rule.

In his fight for justice, Gandhi accepted two ‘tools’ or methods which were based on complete non-violence: non-cooperation was passive, civil disobedience was active and almost revolutionary.

The non-cooperation movement aimed at bringing the government to a stand still, by undertaking acts which the British government considered illegal, but were protests against exploitative and suppressive measures.

In 1930 the Dandi 24 day march (Salt Satyagraha) took place in protest against the repressive British Salt monopoly. Gandhi was arrested along with 80,000 of his followers. It stirred the whole nation.

It was the beginning of the end of colonial rule in India, and the crumbling of the British Empire.

“A small body of determined spirits fired by an unquenchable faith in their mission can alter the course of history.” Mahatma Gandhi

White collar conservative flashin down the street, pointing that plastic finger at me, they all assume my kind will drop and die, but I’m gonna wave my freak flag high.

Jimi Hendrix (If 6 was 9 )

I’ve never been a flag waver, or at least not in the literal sense, as someone who is conspicuously patriotic. Put down to being a bit of a gypsy, born in one land, raised in another, then moving to a third. So while I consider my current land to be my home, the land of my birth still tugs at my heart, and where I spent my early childhood holds a mysterious allure.

New Zealand – where I reside

England – where I was born

Nigeria – where I was raised

which used to have this flag

One country so different from the other two, and yet even the two that are similar and familiar are different, and half a life time away makes the differences even keener. So, no extreme nationalist am I.

But give me a cause that heats my blood, and I will stand on the battlements and wave a flag of righteous indignation with vigour.

I was less than enthusiastic about the proposal by our prime minister to replace our national flag. In my mind there needed to be a valid reason to do so, such as cutting the apron strings of mother England and becoming an independent nation, no longer under another nation’s queen.

But no, we have a prime minister who is still in the thrall of royalty, who reveres lords and ladies, and who on a whim has decided that we need a national brand, which will be depicted on our flag for marketing purposes, not for nationhood.

Enough has been written about the process and the disappointing outcome of the final 4 options we were to vote on. I was contemplating registering my protest by choosing the worst option or spoiling my ballot paper.

Then a quiet revolution started, and a cause that stirred my apathetic bones was born. The narrative around the “First to the Light” (now popularly nicknamed Red Peak“) design has both charmed my sensitivities and strengthened my determination to make a stand against banality and wrong-mindedness.

I say wrong-minded because much of the debate has centred around the idea of the silver fern representing our national identity.

It is the brand of our great sportsmen and women (Rugby and Netball).

It is used by our military forces in various ways. And as such it is an emblem.

Historically emblems were often used on coats of arms, painted on shields and representing an abstract symbol of the person to whom it belonged or was affiliated.

An emblem is a pattern that is used to represent an idea or an individual and is usually worn as an identifying mark or patch (consider biker gangs)

It is interesting that the panel that chose our flag options decided that as a nation, New Zealanders find abstract concepts difficult and that was why the final 4 were stylised depictions of a fern.

The question is, what does a fern represent? What are the qualities of a fern that reflects our national identity?

Fern species, numbering several thousand, are found throughout the world, and are especially abundant in tropical rain forests. They are considered largely as being specialists in marginal habitats, often succeeding in places where other plants don’t.

So, not unique, but common, and survivors – I guess that is quite a good quality for an individual, but is it inspiring for a nation?

The history of heraldry is complex and the evolution of emblems and coats of arms to pennants and flags is a study beyond my blog capability. For my purposes, it is enough to know that, in a discussion about nationhood, we need more than just stylised emblems to represent our multi-cultural diversity. That is why even an elementary knowledge of the symbolism of heraldic colour is helpful.

Gules: Old French word for “throats” (English gullet). Symbolic of nobility, boldness and ferocity and has strong military connotations.

Azure: From Old French, signifies piety, sincerity, loyalty and chastity.

Vert: From the Latin ‘viridis’, symbolic of joy, youth, beauty, and loyalty in love.

Or (gold): Signifies glory, generosity, constancy and elevation of the mind.

First to the Light (Red Peak) is made up of:
A Red ground symbolising boldness
A Black ground symbolising constancy
A Blue ground symbolising sincerity and loyalty
A Silver chevron symbolising peace

Those are the qualities of a nation I would be proud to call mine.

A country may have both a national flag and a national coat of arms, and the two may not look alike at all. Many nations have a seal or emblem in addition to a national flag and a national coat of arms. There is no reason why we cannot have the fern as our seal, coat of arms or emblem and have a different flag with colours symbolising the nobler qualities of our country as peace-makers, conquerors of mountains, and down to earth good sense.

The problem with having a national debate on changing the flag is that the tendency is toward simplistic side taking, whereas there is so much more to be considered. Flags are more than just pieces of coloured cloth used to create division amongst people, or to be waved at sporting events or commemorations

Flags were useful in wars, so you knew which side to kill. Sometimes flags are used as a form of protest against or in favour of a political idea. There are great revolutionary flags.

I have a family history of revolution. My ancestors were Roundheads, three of whom were regicides involved in the execution of Charles I of England. My 9th great grandfather Daniel Axtell, who was hung, drawn and quartered for his actions, had a coat of arms which depicted 3 axes on an azure ground with the motto “Sub cruce gloriore” – “I glory in the cross”.

Oliver Cromwell my 10th great uncle seemed to hedge his bets with his standard incorporating several symbolic concepts.

A flag can rally or it can divide, it can inspire or terrorise. When we vote on our nation’s flag, let us do so thoughtfully, carefully considering what we want it to say about us a people. Resist the temptation to settle for a gimmick, a marketing logo or a ‘patch’. Let the choice be for enduring qualities that speak of noble aspirations.

Here are some thoughts to bear in mind:

“There is no flag large enough to cover the shame of killing innocent people” Howard Zinn

“We have two … flags always: one for the rich and one for the poor. When the rich fly it means that things are under control; when the poor fly it means danger, revolution, anarchy.” Henry Miller

“The day is coming when a single carrot, freshly observed, will set off a revolution.” Paul Cezanne

“Those who make peaceful revolution impossible will make violent revolution inevitable.” John F. Kennedy

I will let Jimi Hendrix have the last word, his interpretation his nation’s flag.

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Philosopher George Berkeley, in his work A Treatise Concerning the Principles of Human Knowledge proposed the idea in 1710, followed by William Fossett twenty years later in a consideration of the emergence of meaning: “To say something is meaningful is to say that that is how we arrange it so; how we comprehend it to be, and what is comprehended by you or I may not be by a cat, for example. If a tree falls in a park and there is no-one to hand, it is silent and invisible and nameless. And if we were to vanish, there would be no tree at all; any meaning would vanish along with us.” http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/If_a_tree_falls_in_a_forest

In 1987 a Canadian singer song writer and environmentalist, Bruce Coburn, released a song called “If a tree falls in the forest”.

In 2011 Marshall Curry made a documentary investigating the darker side of the fight for our environment, chronicling the actions of the Earth Liberation Front, which led to prison charges for Eco-terrorist Daniel McGowan. If a Tree Falls: A Story of the Earth Liberation Front. http://www.ifatreefallsfilm.com

The full phrase is ‘If a tree falls in the forest but nobody is around to hear it, does it make a sound?’ According to Urban Dictionary, it symbolizes the ineffectiveness of unheard opinions/thoughts.

I started this post contemplating recent reports that in New Zealand deforestation is occurring faster than reforestation, and our national rail company that is contemplating divesting itself of its electric units to be replaced with cheap Chinese diesel powered engines.

But there is more to be concerned about than literal trees being destroyed, and the stupidity of continuing to support fossil fuel based transportation options, vitally important though that is.

I’m also concerned about the metaphorical trees falling, and the unheard voices crying out in the wilderness.

With the declaration of Hilary Clinton to run for president, we have seen and heard the commentators raising the issue of whether feminism is still necessary, and that playing the gender card is so last century.

Yet the last 24 hours have shown why we need to keep feminism active with the revealed behaviour of our prime minister repeatedly and unwelcomely handling the hair of a young waitress over several months. A belated and modified apology, not accepted but lied about by perpetrator and reported by tame media has resulted in a global story, international opprobrium and national humiliation. http://thedailyblog.co.nz/2015/04/22/exclusive-the-prime-minister-and-the-waitress/

It is not ok to treat women as a toy, no matter how “playful” or just “horsing” around the intention.

A cursory look on the Internet for images of hair pulling shows that it is anything but playful.

When it is by a relative or close familiar, maybe by mutual consent; but by the most powerful person on the country, NO, not under any circumstances.

When an action is not right it needs to brought out into the light and the suffering of the victim not hidden away in a forest of spin.

Whether it is environmental destruction or sexual harassment, at its core is rape and pillage.

Science has not yet taught us if madness is or is not the sublimity of the intelligence. Edgar Allan Poe

Back in 1984, a portentous year for sure, someone very close to me had a major psychotic episode. The substance of his paranoia consisted of delusions of mass surveillance on a global scale by secret forces such as the CIA and FBI. The scenario of his terror was that of satellite observation of our personal communication systems, even to the extent of our thoughts; his obsession was to resist such intrusions with all of his being.

Of course in 1984 such Orwellian fears were the stuff of science fiction and those who believed and feared such fictions were reality were considered mad and dealt with appropriately by compulsory treatment in mental institutions, and thus it was with my dear one.

Fast forward thirty years and the revelations of Edward Snowden and an intrepid band of investigative journalists show that the substance of paranoid delusions are now a reality.

So, are those who suffer from paranoid delusions like the seers and prophets of old, who had an interpretation of a future reality that could not be understood until it came to pass?

Is the loss of privacy, intrusion into our private communications, our inner thoughts, a deep seated human fear that is now a reality?

Instead of locking away the troubled within our societies and silencing their ravings with drugs, perhaps we should heed their warnings, and question whether the path the agents of secrecy are leading us down is the the path to losing our very humanity.